Nightlife
by DreamShadows
Summary: It was supposed to be a simple salt and burn, but with the Winchesters, things are never that simple. Takes place after AHBL. Limp!Sam. R&R. title was 'Tempest.'
1. Chapter 1

Hey guys… I just got the idea for this… I thought you might enjoy to read it, as much as I am enjoying writing it…

**Tyranusfan** is graciously working as my beta on this story, and for that I cannot begin to express my thanks… But I'll try anyway… THANK YOU!

**Disclaimer: **I own nothing to do with Supernatural or Shakespeare's works… I only own the insane muses that tempt me to write pieces like this…

So I hope you all enjoy, and remember, leave feedback to tell me what you think, it always stimulates an author to either keep writing as they are, or change something to make their writing better.

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Tempest - Chapter 1

_'Be not afeard; the isle is full of noises,  
Sounds and sweet airs, that give delight and hurt not.  
Sometimes a thousand twangling instruments  
Will hum about mine ears, and sometime voices  
That, if I then had waked after long sleep,  
Will make me sleep again: and then, in dreaming,  
The clouds methought would open and show riches  
Ready to drop upon me; that, when I waked,  
I cried to dream again.'  
_-Act 3, Scene 2 - The Tempest _by _William Shakespeare

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_Sam threw the shovel-full of dirt to the side __and bent back down to get another spade-full. He hit something solid, and smiled, hoping that the hunt was soon to be over. Setting the shovel down, Sam grabbed his cell phone and __speed-__dialed his brother's number waiting for the older man to pick up._

"_Yeah?" The gruff voice __answered. _

"_Found it," Sam said. _

"_I'll be right there." A second later, Sam heard the tell-tale click as Dean ended the call._

_Turning his attention back to the monster in front of him, Sam felt a blade stab through him. He felt his skin give way to the sharp steel and let it pass into his stomach. He grabbed the handle, his hands overlapping incorporeal ones, and fell to his knees. Looking up in shock Sam found himself face to face with the deformed ghost, a small, sad smile quirked at his lips._

"_Guess you win after all _Caliban."_ Sam told the spirit in a whisper as he fell the rest of the way to the ground. _

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**Earlier that same day…**

"All the victims' statements say the thing that attacked them was he's **'**like a deformed monster of a man.**'**" Dean told Sam, as they walked out of the small diner that was just down the street from their motel.

"Couldn't be a Wendigo…." Sam mused.

"No, they said he was definitely a man, but there was something seriously wrong with his appearance," Dean replied as they walked to opposite sides of the Impala.

"So he's like Caliban."

At Dean's quizzical look, Sam explained. "Caliban was a deformed monster in _The Tempest._" Dean's blank stare didn't change, so he added, "Shakespeare."

The look on Dean's face turned to one of exasperation.

"Yeah, whatever geek boy. So this Caliban has been trying to kill anyone who enters the house. There's only been a few survivors, so it looks like we might have ourselves a somewhat dangerous ghost here, Sammy." Sam nodded in reply.

"Why were people even going in the house in the first place?" Sam asked after a moment.

"Well, supposedly there is a rumor going around that the place was haunted." Dean said, and turned to his brother. "Most of the victims were kids, none older than seventeen, and you know how teenagers are when they think something is haunted. They figure that they have to go and see it for themselves."

"Figures," Sam breathed, his face scrunching in annoyance. "You know, I wish that when someone says a place is haunted, people would just stay out of it. Maybe then the idiots wouldn't get themselves hurt or killed." Sam's tone was unusually harsh, and Dean stared at him. He decided not to push Sam on the subject for the moment, and turned his attention back to the road.

"You up to going after this Caliban of yours tonight?" Dean asked a few minutes later as he pulled into the motel where they had been staying for the past few days.

"Yeah, sure." Sam mumbled and got out of the car. Dean frowned as he watched his brother walk to their room, apparently in deep thought.

_What's up with him?_ Dean wondered to himself as he levered himself out of the driver's seat, unconsciously making sure that he shut the door lightly.

When Dean walked into the room, Sam was relaying the salt lines at the door and on the window. As Dean watched, his little brother meticulously checked the bathroom and under the bed for anything that was lying in wait.

As Dean watched, he couldn't help but feel worried about Sam. There was something going on with his little brother, and Dean decided to do his damnedest to find out what. He couldn't have Sam distracted during a hunt, while both their asses were on the line.

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Three hours later found the boys once again in the classic Chevy, as Dean drove towards the mansion where the killings had been taking place. After researching the stories and the mansion, the boys had concluded that there were two places where the spirit killing people could have been buried. Sam was going to take the basement, while Dean was going to try the small family cemetery in the back-lot of the mansion.

Neither brother was keen on the idea of splitting up, but they knew the hunt needed to be finished as soon as possible. The best way to do that was to go their separate ways, and hope they found the gravesite before the spirit found them. So the plan was to get in, find the man's bones, burn 'em, and get out.

That was the plan, now all they needed was for it to work.

Dean slowed the car in front of a huge gothic mansion, and Sam let out a low whistle.

"Wow," he breathed, taking in the place in front of him as he slid his long legs out of the car.

"Yeah," Dean breathed as he too stepped from the Impala. "It's big… Nothin' we can't handle though."

"Yeah, nothin' we can't handle," Sam echoed, walking around to the trunk, all the while throwing glances back at the mansion.

Dean watched his brother, his eyes taking in every movement of the younger Winchester. Something had been off with Sam all day, and though Dean wanted to know what it was, he wasn't about to ask his brother now. He just hoped that whatever it was that was bothering Sam wouldn't be too much of a distraction especially during a hunt where they were dealing with a homicidal ghost.

"You ready?" Dean asked as Sam pulled a pre-filled pack, shovel, and sawed off shotgun out of the trunk.

"Yeah," Sam answered, and reached back in the trunk to grab a handful of rock salt rounds for the shotgun. He shoved them in his pocket and turned to Dean. "You?"

"I was born ready," Dean smirked. "Let's go."

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A/N: So I hope you enjoyed this chapter, and remember to tell me so… Even if you didn't.

Take care,

OSS


	2. Chapter 2

Hey guys… Thank you so much for your kind reviews, it seems that you all remembered that kind reviews do an author's heart good… Makes them write faster…

I decided that 'Tempest' wasn't exactly a good title, so I changed it…

A big thanks to **tyranusfan **who continues to put up with me, and does a wonderful job beta'ing…

Anyway, here is chapter 2...

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'_Prospero, you're a great magician:  
you're an old hand at deception.  
And you lied to me so much,  
about the world, about myself,  
that you ended up imposing on me  
an image of myself:  
underdeveloped, in your words, undercompetent  
that's how you made me see myself!  
And I hate that image...and it's false!_'  
-_Act 3, Scene 5_

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Sam held his flashlight in his left hand, keeping his shot-gun outstretched in the other as he walked down a hall in the mansion. He kept his senses alert for anything and everything that could potentially harm him, or keep him from doing his job.

"Stupid adolescent idiots," Sam muttered to himself, wondering if he would even be here if the kids had never entered the house in the first place. "Why can't they leave well enough alone?"

Continuing his trek, Sam descended the flight of stairs that led to the basement. Swiping cobwebs out of the way, he looked for a light switch, and although he found one, when he flicked the knob, nothing happened.

"Great," he mumbled, "just _freaking _great!"

Growling to himself, Sam stepped down off the last step onto a dirt floor, and despite himself, smiled ruefully. _How much you wanna bet, Dean? _He thought to himself.

Looking around for anything that would provide more light, Sam dropped his bag and shovel to the ground. Spotting a few old torches, he bent down and grabbed the lighter from his bag. _Well at least that's something_ he thought as he lit the torches, and the whole room was filled with light. _I can see now. That's a plus._

Sam grabbed his shovel from the ground, and started to dig.

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Dean threw another shovel full of dirt behind him, and wiped the sweat from his brow. He had already dug over four feet, and there was still no sign of the bones where the marker had been. _Looks like it's Sammy's turn to salt and burn_, Dean thought to himself, wishing that he hadn't had to do all the work before he found out that little fact.

His phone rang just as he was taking another shovel-full of dirt from the hole, and laying his spade down, Dean reached in his pocket for it.

"Yeah?" He answered, his voice low.

"Found it," his brother said matter-of-factly.

"I'll be right there," he said, and pushed the _END _button on his phone.

Smiling, happy to get out of digging, Dean grabbed his shovel, pushed it into his pack, and threw the bag over his shoulder. He bent down to pick up his gun and flashlight, then went to find Sam.

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Sam had been digging for the past half-an-hour, a fact that didn't go unnoticed by his aching back. Sam stopped for a minute to catch his breath, and took a drink of water from the bottle he had thrown in his pack. He pulled his shirt off to mop some of the sweat of his chest, and sighed. Throwing the shirt to the side, Sam grabbed his shovel and resumed digging.

He threw the shovel-full of dirt to the side and bent back down to get another spade-full. He hit something solid, and smiled, certain that the hunt was soon to be over. Setting the shovel down, Sam grabbed his cell phone and speed-dialed his brother's number.

"Yeah?" The gruff voice answered.

"Found it," Sam said.

"I'll be right there." A second later, Sam heard the tell-tale click as Dean ended the call.

Turning his attention back to the monster in front of him, Sam felt a blade stab through him. He felt his skin give way to the sharp steel and let it pass into his stomach. He grabbed the handle, his hands overlapping incorporeal ones, and fell to his knees. Looking up in shock Sam found himself face to face with the deformed ghost, a small, sad smile quirked at his lips.

"Guess you win after all _Caliban_." Sam told the spirit in a whisper as he fell the rest of the way to the ground. He fell, sliding off the cool metal of the blade, and then there was only a gaping emptiness where it had been. He dropped the rest of the way, all the while staring at the apparition of the deformed man in front of him.

Caliban looked on in apparent glee as Sam fell, and as the youngest Winchester watched, a smile formed across crooked lips. "Well," the ghost snarled as he stared transfixed at the sight of Sam's blood. "Would you look at that." Sam just gaped at him, incapable of giving an answer.

Sam's vision went hazy, and he vaguely thought that he had felt this way before. Before Dean had made the deal. Before he had been brought back from the dead.

'_Haven't we been here before?_' Sam heard a woman's voice ask. He had heard the quote on a television show Jess had been watching back when they had first moved in together, and ruefully he thought it fit.

"Sammy!?" He heard someone yell, and then a shot rang out; both effectively tearing him from his thoughts. He turned his head towards the voice, making his vision swim. A blurred figure came closer to him, and Sam idly wondered if he should be backing away. But none of his brain's commands seemed to reach his nerves to move his body. He remembered that feeling from the last time, too, and Sam gave up trying to move.

The last thing he heard before losing consciousness was an unearthly howl, and then everything faded out.

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A/N: So I hope you all enjoyed… Don't be shy, tell me what you think of this story…

Oh and by the way, that quote came from the sixth season of Charmed, where Chris and Bianca were talking in the episode, 'Chris Crossed.'

Take care, and review often…

OSS


	3. Chapter 3

Hey guys, sorry it's been so long since I updated, but… drum roll please… We've had people show up unexpectedly from New Hampshire, and I haven't had too much time to actually write lately.

Again, many thanks go out to **tyranusfan**, who still takes on the challenge of beta'ing my story...

I also want to thank you all for your kind reviews, and I hope you enjoy the next chapter of the story…

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Dean watched his brother slide off the knife as if in slow motion. His heart stopped, and his mouth seemed to dry out.

_Sammy?_

His little brother was just lying there on the ground, gasping, jerking, _dying. _

_SAM!_

"You son of a bitch!" Dean yelled, raising his arm. He didn't give the spirit time to react before he was pulling the trigger. _Caliban _released an unearthly shriek and dispersed, but Dean paid no attention, his eyes already focused on his little brother, who lay still, a look of plaintive fear etched on his face.

"Sammy?" Dean asked as he dropped to his knees beside his brother. His brother was ashen, and Dean did the only thing he could think of. Pulling off his shirt, he bunched up the fabric, and pressed it to his brother's stomach, trying to staunch the bleeding.

His little brother jerked away from the pressure, his face creased with pain. "Sorry Sammy," Dean whispered as he held the fabric down with one hand, and fumbled in his pocket for his cell phone with the other.

"9-1-1, what's you emergency?" A curt woman asked on the other side of the phone.

"My brother's been stabbed," Dean breathed, placing the phone between his ear and shoulder, and using his now free hand to apply more pressure to Sam's wound.

"Okay sir, stay calm." Dean let out a barked laugh at the woman's answer.

"_Stay calm? _You want me to stay calm when my brother's lying on the floor bleeding to death?" The incredulous tone of Dean's voice didn't surprise the eldest Winchester.

"I understand that sir, but I need you to stay calm while I dispatch paramedics. What's you location?" The operator asked, her voice still calm and soothing. Dean relayed the address of the old mansion to her. "Okay sir, the EMT's will be there soon."

"Do you have pressure on the wound?" The woman asked after a moment, and Dean nodded, forgetting for a second that he was on the phone and she couldn't see him.

"Yeah," he told her, looking down at the drenched cloth in his bloody hands.

"Good, keep applying pressure with one hand, and with the other, check his pulse." Dean did as ordered, and pressed the fabric down with his right hand, while he placed his left on his brother's neck. "Now, is his pulse fast, slow, faint?" The woman asked.

"It's fast," Dean answered, his sole attention on his little brother. The younger man gasped, as if trying to draw in a deeper breath, and coughed. Blood spattered out of his mouth, and Dean's heart froze. "God, he coughing up blood!"

"The paramedics should be there any second, just hold on!" The operator said urgently. Dean heard the sirens as she told him this, and dropped and closed the phone, effectively ending the call.

"Sammy," Dean whispered, his eyes watering as he looked over his baby brother.

"Sammy, just hold on okay, just stay with me," he pleaded, "_please! _Just please little brother, hold on." Sam didn't seem to hear him, and seconds later, he stopped breathing.

Paramedics ran into the room then, and Dean backed away from Sam, not letting him out of his sight, just giving the medics room to work. He watched as the EMT's dropped down beside his brother, and started checking his vitals. "Rapid pulse, no breath movements." One medic took over his job of putting pressure on Sam's wound, and the other placed a tongue depressor in Sam's mouth, checking for a gag reflex.

"We need to intubate before we move him," the medic told his partner, who nodded, and told him to get the stuff ready, that he couldn't take pressure off the wound until they had everything ready to go, because, "this kid will bleed out faster than we can save him if I do."

Dean could only look on helplessly as Sam's head was tilted back, and a metal depressor was placed on his tongue as a long piece of plastic was pushed down his throat, which was then replaced with a tube. The medic hooked the tube to a translucent blue bag, while his partner called Dean over.

The man ripped open gauze as Dean practically ran over, and told Dean to put pressure on the wound. Dean did as he was told in a daze, and after a moment, the medic ran back in, pulling a stretcher behind him. Dean was once again moved out of the way, and he again watched as his brother was loaded onto a backboard, and then picked up and placed on the stretcher.

As the medic strapped Sam down, he turned to look at Dean. "Name, age, and medical allergies?" He asked.

"John Fogerty, twenty three, and he's allergic to penicillin." Dean replied automatically. The medic nodded, and when Dean went to follow them to the ambulance, the medic told Dean to follow the ambulance to the hospital, so they would have more room to work.

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"John Fogerty, twenty three year old male, with a stab wound to the abdomen. Intubated at the scene, rapid pulse, shocky, and hypovolaemic. Allergic to penicillin." The paramedic announced to the doctors and nurses waiting at the ambulance port as Sam was wheeled through the doors.

"Thanks, we'll take it from here," a balding doctor told the medic, as he and another man took hold of the stretcher, and two nurses took over applying pressure, and bagging Sam.

All four ran down the hall toward the OR, and as Dean walked through the doors, all he saw was a glimpse of his pale brother before the doors swung shut.

_Please be okay, Sammy… _

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A/N: I hoped you liked this chapter, though I have a feeling it was one of the worst I wrote so far… But then again, I've kinda lost some interest for this story. I'll try to finish it, but a writers greatest influence, besides their readers is the fact that they actually want to, and have motivation for their story…

So we'll see…

Oh and as a little note, John Fogerty was a member of Creedence Clearwater Revival... So with that said,

Take care and review often,

OSS


	4. Chapter 4

Hey guys, so long time huh? I did take all your words to heart though, and this story will be finished, muse pending. I think this chapter shall be dedicated to **Faye Dartmouth**, for her encouraging words, and her comment that no chapter with intubation in it is a bad one, and that she enjoys my writing… (Totally squeeing!)

I also half dedicate this chapter to **Rozzy07** who said, and I quote, _'Playing catch up here but just loved the opening chapter and the way you have taken it forward to the second - and so seriously pimping the limpness for our Sammy boy! Bad ghoulie Caliban slicing into our boy like that - someone really does need to salt & burn him damn fast.'_ I was laughing so much when I read this review, and it's high praise from such a great writer.

Anyway, a big thanks goes out to **Tyranusfan**, who continues to put up with my stubborn attitude, and my unedited chapters… He does such a wonderful job fixing them.

More thanks also goes out to the readers and reviewers of this story, who are the only the only things keeping me writing this story, because obviously my muses have decided to take a break until this story is done…

Anyway, enough of my babbling and rambling, read and enjoy chapter 4...

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"Family of John Fogerty?" Dean's head shot up at the question. He had been sitting in the waiting room, staring at the same dull white walls for over three hours, and was anxious to hear any news on Sam.

"I'm his brother," Dean stood, and walked over to the short, graying doctor. She gave him a smile that reminded him of his mother, and Dean's heart flipped.

"Hi Mr. Fogerty, my name is Dr. Meylo, and I was John's surgeon." Meylo held out her hand for Dean to shake, and squeezed reassuringly when Dean took the hand in his own.

"Dean," he let her hand go impatient, "How is he?"

Dr. Meylo took a breath, and looked up at him. "John pulled through surgery, and barring any complications he should fully recover." Dean's face lit up, and the hand that had been crushing his heart since Sam had been hurt let go. "Now," she told him, seeing his look; "that doesn't mean that everything is fine. John has a long, hard road ahead of him, and he isn't fully out of the woods yet." Dean seemed to deflate at the news, and Meylo felt bad for telling him, but she knew he had to know everything.

"We almost lost him a few times due to all the blood loss, but he's recieved a transfusion to replace it," Again the words hit Dean like a physical punch, and it was all he could do not to pull away. "As you know he was on a ventilator when he was brought in, and although that has been removed, John still has a nasal canula on to make sure he is getting enough oxygen." Dean let out a breath he didn't know he had been holding as the doctor told him that Sam was once again breathing on his own.

"What we're worried about now, is the likelihood of infection, more specifically, Septicemia. Septicemia is a blood infection, and is the most common cause of death for patients in the ICU of a hospital. With a wound like your brother's, Septicemia has a very good chance of occurring, and we've already put John on a run of antibiotics as a precaution. Other than that, John has a very good chance of pulling through, he is one strong young man."

Dean nodded as he took in all the information. He had heard of Septicemia; had even had a hunting buddy get it while in the hospital; but he had never thought that there would be a chance Sam would get the infection. The fact that he was already getting antibiotics to treat the infection and any other helped to put Dean's soul at ease, but it reinforced the fact that Sam was hurt badly enough to be in the ICU in the first place.

"Okay," he said slowly, looking the woman in the eye, "when can I see him?" There was so much that Dean wanted to know, but at the moment, his need to see his brother overrode any further questions. He was in protective big brother mode, and there was nothing that was going to keep him away from Sammy.

"Well, right now he is in recovery, and will probably be in there for the better part of an hour; but after he is moved to a room in the ICU, you will be able to stay with him." Dr. Meylo told him with a kind smile. "When John is moved into his room, I will send a nurse to take you to him." Dean nodded, mumbling a brief "thanks," as the older doctor left.

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Fifty two minutes and eight seconds later, a petite brunette in puppy dog scrubs came for him. Under normal conditions, Dean would have hit on her without a second thought, but with his baby brother laying in the ICU seriously hurt, getting a woman into bed was the last thing on his mind. She left him at the door of room 401 with a gentle smile, one which Dean struggled to return.

He pushed the door open, taking a deep breath before walking inside. His heart broke as he took in the sight of his little brother. He was still, so _very_ still. Sam who had never been that still in sleep, nightmares and visions making him jerk and twitch, always in motion.

Sam was pale, as if all the blood had been drained from him. Tubes ran piggy-backed into the back of his right hand, one pushing a crimson liquid into his veins, and one ran clear pumping antibiotics and pain killers into his body. Wires ran under the neck of his hospital issue gown, monitoring his vitals, and as the nurse had told Dean, clear tubing ran under and into Sam's nose, keeping his oxygen levels up.

Dean walked to the side of Sam's bed, pulling up a chair, and flopping gracelessly into it. He reached over, and picked Sam's hand up in his own, not knowing if he was comforting Sam or himself. Sam was unconscious, and wouldn't know what his brother was doing. Dean was wide awake, and couldn't conceal the relief he felt holding Sam's hand in his own, feeling his pulse underneath his fingers.

Sitting there, he was content to just hold onto Sam, to make sure that he was really there, that he was really alive. Everything else, every other worry, every other thought, just seemed to take a back seat.

Keeping Sam's hand in his own, Dean reached over and smoothed his brother's ruffled hair, a small gesture that conveyed a lot of emotions. Ever since he could remember, Dean had run his fingers through Sam's long locks whenever he was hurt, sad, scared, or a combination of all three. The rhythmic motions had always had a calming effect on the younger Winchester, and it was a habit that Dean had never been able to break.

Sighing he sat back in the chair and ran his now free hand through his own short hair. It wasn't the first time he had seen Sam in a hospital bed, and it probably wouldn't be the last, but every time he saw his little brother helpless and hurt, a little piece of him broke. Dean placed his free hand over his eyes, and leaned his head back, all the while unconsciously rubbing the back of Sam's hand with his thumb.

Closing his eyes, Dean promised himself that he was just going to rest for a moment. He wanted to keep an eye on Sam, and he couldn't do that if he was asleep. It wasn't long though, before his eyelids were too heavy to lift, and he was slipping into the peaceful darkness of oblivion.

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A/N: I hope you enjoyed this chapter, and the idea for using 401 as the room number, totally came from Tyranusfan, who added a big, HA! at the end of his suggestion, I laughed and used the idea…

So anyway, since the first note was so long, I just want to tell you to take care, and push the lilac colored button on your left and leave me a review…

Take care,

OSS


	5. Chapter 5

Hey guys, sorry it took so long to get this to you, but some things got screwed up with emails… and you know how those things happen right?

Anyway, I just wanted to thank **tyranusfan **again for doing a wonderful job as beta, and putting up with my bs… Thank you to everyone who reviewed, your kindness is duly appreciated, I mean it…

Okay, so here's the next chapter, hope you enjoy…

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The next morning, Dean found himself in the same position he had started in. He was slumped in the chair beside his little brother's bed, Sam's hand still held in his own. As he sat up, his joints creaked and his back protested, not wanting to move after being settled so uncomfortably for so long.

He placed Sam's hand back on the bed, and stood. Raising his arms over his head, Dean arched back and groaned, stretching his arms and cracking his back with three loud 'pops.'

Dean looked Sam over, taking in the entire sight of his little brother. He was still pale, though not as much as he had been the night before, and there was still no sign of fever or infection. It looked like Sam truly was on his way to recovery, and the relief that thought brought Dean was palpable.

Deciding to go get coffee, Dean turned and walked for the door, turning and giving Sam another once over before he stepped through the doorway. He walked down the hall towards where the nurse had told him the cafeteria was, the night before. Throughout the short walk, there was a soft smile quirking his lips, one that didn't seem to want to leave.

Sammy was going to be okay.

While Dean knew that certain fact wasn't guaranteed, he did know that Sam was recovering nicely, and that he wasn't going to let anything happen to him while he was there. The fact that he wasn't planning on leaving Sam's side for any length of time, just reassured him that his brother was going to be okay.

When Dean walked back into Sam's ICU room ten minutes later, he found Dr. Meylo waiting for him. His concern grew at the sight of the elder woman, and he cocked his head to the side questioningly.

"Is everything okay with S-John?" Dean asked, catching himself on the name as he walked over to his little brother's side, assessing the younger man for anything that was different than when he had checked moments before.

Dr. Meylo gave him a reassuring smile, and Dean felt some of the tension relieve itself from his shoulders. "John is doing well," she told him softly, "he seems to be healing nicely, and depending on how he feels when he wakes up, I would say that he might be able to be moved down to a room in PCU by tomorrow, or the next morning."

"Okay," Dean breathed, his relief escalating, knowing that the doctor thought Sam was going to pull through without complications. His lips pulled up into a smile, and Dean nodded, the news really hitting him, even as a gentle stir came from the bed.

"John?" He asked, reaching out to take Sam's hand in his own. Sam's answer was to turn slightly towards his brother, and groan. "Hey little brother," Dean said softly, smiling when his little brother's eyes opened to the barest slits.

"Dea-?" Sam asked, trying to ask what had happened, and where he was, all in one word. His throat hurt, and his voice cracked, but he saw the flicker of understanding in his big brother's eyes.

"You were stabbed little brother. You're in the hospital." Dean told Sam quietly, his voice unusually calm for the emotions boiling inside him.

"Oh," Sam answered dumbly, holding the hand that still held his tighter. He remembered the ghost in the old mansion coming at him, but other than that it was a total blank. He didn't remember being stabbed, or the trip to the hospital.

Dean watched Sam in concern as his brother processed what he had just told him. The younger man didn't seem to remember what had happened, and Dean didn't know if he was happy or dismayed at that fact.

"Yeah," Dean said softly, watching as Dr. Meylo quietly excused herself from the room. "How do you feel Sammy?" He asked once he was sure she had left the room.

"M'good. Doesn't even hurt right now, everything'sjust kind of fuzzy." Sam admitted, looking his brother in the eye.

"Good, just tell me if you feel any pain. I don't want you in pain when we can do something about it, okay?" Sam watched as Dean went into full 'big brother mode' and smiled at him.

"I will," he vowed, knowing that Dean wouldn't let it go until he got his way; and Dean's way usually led to a happy Sam, so more often than not, Sam just gave into the older man.

"Okay," with a sigh Dean flopped back into the chair he had previously spent the night in, and picked up his coffee from where he had set it on Sam's bedside table.

"So, d'yah get enough beauty rest Princess Aurora?" Dean asked, his usual cocky smirk lining his lips.

"The fact that you know the lead character's name of 'Sleeping Beauty,' isn't being lost on anyone Dean." Sam deadpanned.

"Shut-up Samantha," Dean shot back.

"Oh yeah, that's real original Dean." Dean's smirk turned into a scowl and Sam grinned. "It's not my fault you use the same comeback every time Einstein."

"You're such a geek,"

"Uh-huh, and that wasn't any better than the last one. Keep trying, I'm sure you'll get something useful sometime, Freud." Sam was still smiling, and Dean's face was darkening.

"Oh bite me dork-wad," _See that was a little better. Not by much, but better..._

"Shove it jerk,"

"Bite me pansy."

"Bite yourself man-whore,"

"Sammy," Dean cried indignantly, "that one's off limits and you know it."

_Oh yeah, things were getting back to normal…_

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A/N: So I think I may just leave it there, that seems like a good ending right?

Take care yah'all… -OSS


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